Apis mellifera
by Ms. Unlucky
Summary: In which Dean and Cas don't go to Purgatory, Sam's apparently worried about food additives, and Cas figuring out a place to put his test monkeys isn't the worst stunt the half-sane Angel has pulled... Mindless, uh, fluff? I'm not sure what to call it, actually.


**Author Stuff ~** This was inspired by a tumblr post, which actually had nothing to do about SPN, and everything to do about beehives in ceilings. So... sorry? XD

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**Apis mellifera **

Dean's not a hundred percent sure what wakes him up. In the past couple of weeks it's been a variety of things—from a house full of recently freed test monkeys, to an eager smile and thin fingered hands holding out a Monopoly board. They'd settled down after ganking Dick—Sam, Cas, and him—to get a chance at recuperation, and so far Castiel has been doing his best to make sure the eldest Winchester get's as little rest as possible.

Dean doesn't even wanna _think_ about the jello incident.

But this time his wake up call is more subtle: just a faint, constant buzzing. For a moment Dean just lays snuggled under his blankets and stares at their cabins old wooden ceiling—warm, loose limbed, and still a bit tired. He's debating whether or not to get up; whether it's really worth it.

There's a sharp _bang_ of a cabinet closing, clanking of glass dishes, and the familiar scuffling of slippered feet on squicky, wood panels.

Fuck, he's gonna have to get up or risk all their dishes being given to Wombat's again.

He sighs.

Sitting up, Dean runs a weary hand over his face, takes a deep breath, and tries to get his game-face on. Their time spent at the cabin hasn't been for nothing—Cas has been doing a lot better. He doesn't lose his focus as much, has stopped covering himself in condiments, and doesn't always just up and disappear at the first sign of confrontation.

He's even started talking with some of the other angels—at least, the ones that don't want to kill him…

Getting up, Dean notes the farther toward the kitchen he gets, the loader the buzzing is. Brows furrowing, he enters the kitchen to find—

Breakfast.

Their dingy little table has been set with place-mats and napkins and even a little vase of sun flowers as a centerpiece—dinner plates are piled high with scrambled-eggs, bacon, toast, and a little bowl of fruit to the side. Milk—chocolate for both him and Cas, Dean notes—sit full and fresh in tall, clean glasses.

It's almost like a picture from one of Sam's fruity homestyle magazines.

It'd set Dean at ease, and maybe even put a smile to his face, if it wasn't for the loud buzzing noise.

"Cas—"

"Good morning, Dean," the Angel's smile is nearly blinding.

"Uh, yeah. Good morning. What's—"

"I have made us breakfast. Eggs made just the way you like them, bacon, toast with honey, fruit, and 1% white milk for Sam."

Dean hesitates, and then: "Thanks."

He walks over and eats a piece of bacon—it's good, no, it's fucking amazing. Dean's tempted to just sit down and start shoveling food in his mouth, but the buzzing is still there; still putting Dean on edge because he knows whatever it is can't be good—he knows what to expect by now, by God does he know.

Dean picks up a piece of toast and nibbles on it, trying to think of the best way to confront Castiel, without upsetting him. The honey is sweet and fresh—even, for a moment, close to comparing to pie. He's never had honey like this before, actually, and wonders what brand Cas bought to—

Oh.

Oh, _fuck._

Dean prays to whatever God's are listening that he's wrong.

"Cas," he says, slowly putting down the toast, and staring the Angel in the eyes. He can't lie and hold eye contact—usually Dean finds it endearing but now… Christ he hopes Castiel doesn't look away. "Where are they?"

"Where are who?"

_"Cas."_

The once Angel of the lord looks down at his food and bites his lip guiltily.

God damn it.

Dean huff out a frustrated breath, but keeps his voice calm. "Cas, just… I'm not mad. Just tell me where they are."

Castiel squirms in his seat—picks up his fork and pokes at his eggs before lifting his other hand, and pointing straight up. For a moment Dean's puzzled. He stands there uncomprehendingly and stares at his Angel, but the sheer volume of the buzzing and where Cas is pointing slowly clicks into place.

"No," Dean says, eyes going wide. "You didn't."

Dean backs up and away from the table, eyes locked on the ceiling above. Now that he's looking, he can see some sort of residue wetting a few of the wooden panels above.

"I wasn't planning on it! But we were out of honey, and I was just going to go to the store, but the bottle said _'like it's fresh from the hive' _and I thought that just couldn't be right. And then I realized the whole time I had followed the bees and collected their honey I never once tried it myself. And I thought you and Sam might enjoy it, especially since Sam has been trying to eat organic food ever since the whole Leviathan thing, and they were just so kind, Dean, not one of them stung me and I—"

Dean stops listening to the frantic rambling right about then, trying to figure out how he and Sam are going to get the bees out of the ceiling if Cas pulls a disappearing act when Dean has to get firm and tell the Angel they can't stay.

Sighing, Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

He's always hated bees.

_Fin_


End file.
